Breakout Kings Addenda
by Viskey HeroMouse
Summary: Little pieces of fiction, small snipptes to "prompts" taken from the show. There'll be at least one snipped for every episode ... or so's the plan. - I'll try to cover all characters, but there'll be a strong focus on Lloyd. He's just fabulous.
1. Author's Note

Breakout Kings Addenda

A/N:

This is going to be – hopefully – a collection of little snippets adding to each episode of the Breakout Kings. Some will be obvious choices, like Lloyd buying flowers for Julianne, and will have been done before. Others will be angles that haven't been explored yet, at least not that I'm aware of.

I'll try to go through the series chronologically, but there's no guarantee. My muse isn't much one for chronology.

Also the stories won't be beta-read for language because English isn't my first languaga and, unfortunately, I don't have a native speaker to go to at the moment. So all the mistakes you find, you may keep them and laugh at them. I just hope that it's not getting in your way of enjoying my addenda.


	2. Addendum 1: Cure Mother

Addendum #1

Series 1, episode 1: Cure Mother

He wasn't sure since when he'd known about his mother's alcoholism. Probably forever. But he remembered distinctly the moment he'd heard the word for the first time. It was on TV, he and his mother had been watching one of her daily soaps, and one of the male cast was calling one of the female cast a "godforsaken alcoholic". To which the woman had raised her glass and taken a good swallow.

It could have played out just like that in his own home. Somebody coming up to his mother and calling her a godforsaken alcoholic, she would have, probably, reacted just like that. Taking a drink, just to spite that person.

That had been three years ago, when he'd been four. And ever since then he'd been wondering if there was anything he could do about it. He knew that it was apparently a wide-spread problem in America, and there seemed to be three ways to cure an alcoholic: The church, the AA, and therapy.

He knew his mother wouldn't go to church for help. She did go to mass every Sunday, but it was more to be seen doing so, than actually wanting to go. Lloyd did not understand the reasons behind that, he just understood that it was immensely important to be seen at mass. It was all about being a good Christian and a good citizen. At least that's what his mother told him between her curses and tirades about the immorality of God's "ground personnel".

So no, his mother wouldn't go to church for help, not ever, because she didn't trust it.

The AA was a group of alcoholics, who called themselves anonymous. Though why, Lloyd didn't quite get, because they all introduced themselves, each time they spoke up. – He knew that form TV also. It had been in one of Mother's soaps.

In any case, it was a pretty mute point, because the AA were a group, and his mother didn't like crowds. She hated church for that reason also: It was a lot of people in one place, and she didn't like that. It was also why she hardly left the house at all. She went to church on Sundays and to the mall on Wednesdays, to do the week's shopping. Although lately she liked to send Lloyd to do that. She'd give him a shopping list and some money, and send him on his way, patting him on the back, calling him a good, clever boy. He liked that. What he didn't like was that very often the money was not enough for all the things he was supposed to buy.

But there were ways around that: coupons and special sales. Somehow he always managed.

So, with church and AA both ruled out, there was only one way left: Therapy. But how to get her into therapy, when she didn't want to leave the house? Did therapists do home-visits?

Lloyd frowned. Not even regular doctors made home-visits in this part of town.

Lloyd looked at the college-folders lying in front of him. He wasn't quite there yet, he wasn't quite through with his highschool diploma, but it never hurt to be informed. He leafed through them, trying to decide which one of those colleges offered the best psychology classes. If he became a therapist, he could cure his mother. He would make house-calls. He would live here, with her, and he would cure her. And then she would go outside with him, doing ... stuff. He couldn't quite picture what he and his mother could do together, except watching TV, but he was sure that there was something.

He would become a therapist. He would cure Mother. He put the folders aside and bent his head down over his homework again. Equations. He loved equations. Everything was balanced out in the end.


	3. Addendum 2: Outsmarted

Addendum #2

Series 1, episode 1: Outsmarted

Shea sees the car. Sees the man leave it, door open, key in the ignition, radio running ... Ten steps, maybe twelve. Neither of the two marshals to be seen anywhere. It would take not more than a few seconds, and he'd be off.

So what if Philly and Lloyd get shipped back to maximum security? So what if they get their sentences doubled? What's it to him? He's not their keeper. Plus, Philly can make her life comfy-cozy just anywhere, she's that kind of person. And Lowry ... Shit, no matter what, he's a moron and will land on his friggin' nose, regardless of whatever anyone does. He just doesn't have what it needs to survive... in any environment. Shea simply refuses to believe that there is a society anywhere where Lloyd's impossible behaviour is considered acceptable.

Even if Lowry does get out of prison early, with time shaved off, it won't be long before he ends up in the state house again. Shea would bet his left ball on that. The guy's just completely unfit to live in the real world. No doubt, it was stupidity that landed him in ...

"Let me tell you about a study I did when I was teaching at the university," Lowry's grating voice bursts into his thoughts.

"I gave five-year-olds a choice between a nickel today and a dime tomorrow, and they all took the nickel. And my point is that children have a hard time delaying gratification. And if we're being intellectually honest, so do your people."

Shea finally turns around, ticked off, but trying to keep himself in check. He's not a violent person, but when he's being insulted – and he is right now, there's no mistaking it – then that's a thing not to just let pass. "What's that now?" he asks provokingly.

Immediately Lloyd breaks out into a terrible parody of a stereotypical low life gangsta, and for reasons Shea can't quite name at the moment, that angers him even more. So he calls Lloyd a racist, which Lloyd countered with "factist" and a nicely worded analysis of the situation: How Shea wants to go over to that car with the motor running, leaving them all behind to bear the consequences of his escape and pretty much not giving a shit. And damn, he keeps talking about his own situation, how he's got 25 years, and how it's different inside a max shack for him. And damn, if he doesn't sound almost grown up when he says it.

To make matters even worse, Philly, that cold-hearted, slick bitch chips in. She's not going back either, she says, but Shea is pretty certain that she doesn't mean going with the programme. She's talking about running, just like he's thinking about it.

Shea has to wonder, though. 25 years? How'd Lowry score 25 years anyway? He doesn't strike Shea as a violent guy who's capable of murder or multiple rapes. Probably stole money from the rich, because the rich can get really pissy if you mess with their finances, and that's why sentences for tax fraud and embezzlement were right up there with rape and murder.

"What the hell d'you do to get 25 years?" the question bursts out of him.

"_That_ is none of your business," Lloyd answers, and almost seamlessly he adds: "... and there goes your ride." He even points at it, the bastard.

Shae feels like kicking himself, because he gets the strong impression that he's just been played. Lloyd has pulled him into a conversation, an argument, just to keep him where he was, to keep him away from the ready-to-jump-in-and-drive-the-hell-out-of-here-truck. Just to get what _he_ wanted.

Damn it. That guy's a lot more observant than he looks and a lot smarter and a lot more manipulative. Damn it. Gotta look out for that one in future.

And because Shea is still pissed, and because he can't stand Lowry, and because he has to save face, he does the only thing he can think of: smashing the argument which had started this all. "Yeah, well," he says, "the kids thought the nickel was worth more, 'cause it's bigger than a dime. Your study was garbage."

True, not very mature, but it feels good, because Lowry is seriously affected by the words. He doesn't like his studies being belittled. Something to remember for future use against the prick.


	4. Addendum 3: White Noise

Addendum #3

Series 1, episode 2: White Noise

He tried to figure her out, that new girl. He'd pretty much failed with Philly, there was no denying that, But here he had a new chance; a new challenge. Women had always been harder for him to read, especially when they didn't display obvious signs of psychological disorders. When women were just women ... he pretty much was at a loss.

Out of principle he didn't like being lost, which was why he went over to her, pretty straight-forward and asked her. Asked her who and what she was so he knew what he was dealing with.

But she wasn't quite as straight-forward. She blew him off, totally.

Not that Lloyd wasn't used to that kind of behaviour, especially from pretty women, but in the given situation, considering what was at stake, he figured he had a right to know her circumstances. So he asked again; nicely, with a pretty please at the end.

That, at least, got him an answer: "Breaking-and-entering-expert."

Truth? Lie? He didn't know, because he just couldn't read women. Either way, she exuded an air of danger and threat, so he thought it wise to just say thank you and leave her alone ... for the time being.

That's when she stood up, faced him and put her hand to the back of his neck, her fingers slipping under his hair... at least that's what it felt like.

So, definitely a lie. If she'd told him the truth just then, she wouldn't deem it necessary to give him any more attention.

Screw it. He had a beautiful woman's hand at his nape, her fingers in his hair, her body close to his ... her breath in his face and in his ear, as she leaned in closer to speak to him. Not that he got a single word of what she said. It was all lost in the white noise of his tingling nerves.

He knew that this seemingly intimate position was in truth a demonstration of power – hers – and threat – by her – but it didn't change his reaction to it.

"You can understand that, can't you?" she asked.

Lloyd nodded. He had no idea what he was allegedly understanding, but nodding seemed like a good idea.

She slipped her hand from his nape to the front of his chest and patronisingly patted him once.

All Lloyd could do was clear his throat with embarrassment and walk over to a chair to sit down as inconspicuously as possible before his body could show more of a reaction than could be in favour of his health.


	5. Addendum 4: Disappointment

Addendum #4

Series 1, episode 3: Disappointment

Lloyd was excited about this particular runner. Theodore Bagwell, psychopath and sociopath, a slimeball with a reputation. Psychologists all over the country had written their theses about that man, regardless of whether they'd actually met him or not. It was, after all, a combination you didn't find every day. And then, of course, there was the man's cruelty, the grossness of his crimes. Always a big motivator for shrinks with a wish to publish.

But Lloyd had higher standards than that. He didn't write about people he hadn't met. – Which was the crux of the matter: Theodore Bagwell, aka Teabag, had nothing to spare for shrinks. The only psychologists who ever got to talk to him were appointed by the courts that dealt with him. And Lloyd had never been in the lucky position to be obligated by one of those courts; probably they figured that they couldn't afford him. But Lloyd would have gladly given his expertise for free, just to meet Teabag in person.

But hey, water under the bridge now, because very soon Lloyd would meet him. There was no doubt in Lloyd's mind about that. So far the Breakout Kings had caught every runner. (And secretly Lloyd was madly in love with that nickname for its super-hero-flair. But he'd rather bite his tongue off than tell Shea that.

Oh yes, Dr. Lloyd Lowry would finally get his appointment with the infamous Teabag. He would sit opposite him, look him in the eyes, and he would get some home-truths about him. He would get the real, ultimate truth, because he was so much better than all the other shrinks out there. He would write a sensational paper, because nobody could stop him from doing that. They might have pulled his license, but they couldn't pull his mind. With Teabag as his subject he would surely find a publisher. The man was holding too much fascination and public interest to pass up new material on him.

And then ...

... all Teabag had to offer was clichés. He let loose a tirade of hate and disdain, but it was empty ramblings, nothing substantial.

In the end Lloyd got no big revelations, no deep insights, no spectacular findings on nature versus nurture. It was just ... so simple; a small truth: Some machines got out of the factory broken.

That a year-long fascination with Bagwell would end so anticlimactic.

How disappointing.


	6. Addendum 5 Child Prodigy Grown Up

Addendum #5

Series 1, episode 3: Child Prodigy grown up

Charlie watched Lowry as he nervously walked up and down the short hallway. He had a notebook in his hands and very much looked like a student doing some last-minute cramming before some big, important exam.

It seemed so unbelievable that this man was probably the smartest person he'd ever meet. An IQ of 210 wasn't pretty impossible to beat. At the same time, Charlie felt that at 38 the former child prodigy was still both: prodigy and child.

It was bad enough that Zancanelli had made him work with Julianne Simms, who was riddled with disorders and problems and phobias. But at least she knew she was defective and did her best to work around her misgivings. She at least knew what normal behaviour was and strived to act that way.

But Lowry? Charlie was pretty sure Lowry wouldn't know normal if it bit him in the ass. He was great with profiling, no question. He was eerily good at getting into a psycho's mind. Hell, he'd looked at the wall of missing women when they'd chased Xavier. For all the – honest – bewilderment over how many women had gone missing in one year, he had picked the right woman almost immediately. Sure, he had doubted his own judgment practically with the same breath, but in the end, he had been right.

But was that good enough to keep him around? To let him alienate people around him, creep them out? Why couldn't he learn to just shut up every once in a while?

Charlie went closer to the interview room, when he heard Teabag's hate-filled voice float into the corridor. That man was a force to be reckoned with, while Lowry ... wasn't. Better to be close by, just in case.

He peeked inside, and was pleasantly surprised. Lowry sat there, and all the nervousness had fallen away from him. He just sat there, let Teabag rant, and when he finally had the opportunity to speak, it was in a way very unlike him. He sounded grown up, and the things he said sounded grown up too.

Maybe Lowry was a man after all.


	7. Addendum 6: Minutes

Addendum #6

Series 1, episode 4: Minutes

**Thirty-seven minutes.**

Watching her fellow inmates with their families, their children. Watching through thick security glass.

Her soul and her heart in there, roaming the room, searching desperately for the child that was hers, but wasn't there. Her daughter.

Only other people's children playing in the visitation room, watched by their happy parents.

**Thirty-eight minutes.**

She had visitation today, she was supposed to see her kid.

But Danny, her ex, didn't bring her. Probably figured that just because she was in jail she had no rights to her own daughter. And the really bad thing about that was: If she were to sue him, he'd probably win, regardless of the fact that she did have visitation rights with her child, ruled and ascertained so by family court.

She was entitled to one afternoon every month. Four hours in which she was allowed to be a mother, not just a woman with a child.

And he didn't come. That bastard asshole didn't come. He didn't bring her.

**Thirty-nine minutes.**

If she weren't so majorly depressed right now, she'd break out and kill Danny for it. Who the fuck did he think he was?

_Not a criminal_, a small voice at the back of her mind whispered. – He was not a criminal like her.

Still, she was the mother, and nobody can replace the mother. Lloyd had put it into terribly fitting terms: Mother, the person genetically designed to nurture her child. How could Danny ever think that depriving their daughter of her mother's nurturing and love could be a good thing?

**Forty minutes.**

The door buzzed open loudly.

"You're being pulled out." The guard's voice was gruff, not in a mean way, just matter-of-factly.

"I've got visitation today, I'm not going anywhere." If there was even the tiniest of chances that she saw her daughter today, and be it only for a second... from across the room...

"You've been waiting 40 minutes already. Nobody's coming." He sounded almost sympathetic, but when he reached for her arm to lead her outside, she couldn't help herself, she slapped his hand away. It was that tiny little chance ... Visitation hours were not over yet, she had 2 hours and 20 minutes left to hope.

"Hey!" The sympathy had gone from his voice completely, replaced by steely warning. "Your work-release van is outside." He pointed his finger into her face to mark his next words: "You go there or to the hole."

She turned to look through the security glass once more.

"Your choice," he said.

But it wasn't really a choice, was it? Because what could she possibly do? Blow this whole deal for a minute with her daughter? Sacrifice months, maybe years off her sentence for a minute with her baby? Even if Danny brought her over, which to be honest was more than unlikely... Was it really worth the earlier release?

She forced herself to do the rational thing: honour the deal with the marshals, blow the tiny chance to see her.

But goddamn, it sucked.


	8. Addendum 7: Victim of Brilliance

Addendum #7

Series 1, episode 3: Victim of Brilliance

* * *

Shea looked at Lloyd sideways. He gave himself all buddy-like, when in fact he was just trying to rile Lowry up. His racist remarks (factist my ass) did not go unnoticed and certainly wouldn't go unpunished.

Of course Shea had noticed the way Lowry had a soft spot for Julianne. She was a sweet enough girl, but totally lacked the fire Shea liked in a woman. But that was not the point. He had to get under Lloyd's skin. So he told him that he'd pick her over Erica for a little beepe-de-bop. And sure enough, Lloyd fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Claimed doctor-patient-empathy, what a load of crap. Lloyd wanted to get into Julianne's panties, he was just too big a wimp to admit it, even to himself as it seemed.

Over at the Brooklyn office Lloyd paid him back for the tease, explaining to him, in a gravelly serious voice, what "pathological" meant. Like Shea was some kind of idiot. And no way Shea would let that be the end of it, he'd get back at Lloyd.

And when Lloyd rattled off psycho-babble about paedophiles, the opportunity has come. But damn, Lloyd was smarter than to take the bait about the sex. He just claimed that he had "sexed", whatever that was supposed to mean, but there was enough conviction behind it for Shea to drop the matter.

His next try at a come-back was a low blow, he knew that, and he regretted it almost immediately. It was beyond him to treat other people so lowly. And even if Lloyd rambled on about how he'd publish this case, he really seemed affected by it. Not a complete a-hole then.

And as the case drew on, Shea thought he started to understand Lloyd Lowry. He wasn't a bad guy, just ... socially clumsy. And a total victim of his own brilliance. Shea guessed that if you had a brain like that, you just couldn't help yourself, you would want to put that brain to use.


	9. Addendum 8: Around the Corner

Addendum #8

Series 1, episode 4: Around the Corner

* * *

"Oooh, I have sexed. Several times." Lloyd delivered the line just right. It held just the right amount of confidence – even arrogance – and equability. He didn't like talking about sex, not when it involved himself. He could talk about anybody else's sex-life and needs and disorders just fine. But when it came to himself... he guessed he was just shy.

For a minute it even worked. Shea didn't press the matter of his virginity – still intact or not – any longer. But like so many things in Lloyd's life the alleged solution came back to bite him in the ass. Shea, honest to god, accused him of being a paedophile. Just what the hell gave him that idea? Lloyd knew he could be creepy sometimes, yes. But honestly, he wasn't that creepy! He wasn't giving off any of _those_ vibes, was he?

If he was, then it just wasn't fair. Paedophilia was something that gave _him_ the creeps, because he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He could slip into just any mind-set in a matter of minutes. Psychotic, neurotic, sociopathic, phobic, depressed ... you name it, he could get into it. But not with paedophilia. In a way this was reassuring. He already was neurotic with a touch of sociopathy, and could easily see himself become psychotic, phobic, depressed ... whatever. It was comforting to know that, no matter what, he'd never traumatize a child like that.

But, to be perfectly honest, that wasn't it. It bugged him, yes, because he wasn't used to not being able to do things. But the truth was, that the idea of adults having sex with children just made him feel uneasy, always had. It made him feel tense inside and loose too. He felt jiggly and queasy and nervous, like there were something lurking around the next corner, ready to tackle him.

This feeling had certainly intensified since his time at Rahway. Being subjected to sexual abuse yourself would do that to you. Today Lloyd could empathize with the victims so much better than he could before. It was a gift as well as a curse. More of a curse in the given case. He felt with Tess, wanting to bite his own fingers till they bled, found himself in her drawings.

He didn't want to deal with this, didn't want to delve into this subject, intriguingly uncommon as Ramsey's pathology was.

But it wasn't to be helped. If he pulled this off, he and Shea and Erica would lose a month of their sentence. He could feel uneasy and preyed after for a few hours if it helped shave off a month for him and his friends.

He could.


	10. Addendum 9: Things to do before

Addendum #9

Series 1, episode 4: Things to do...

* * *

Lloyd feverishly searched through his office. It had to be somewhere in here, the list. He didn't know why he wanted it so badly, because all it would do was remind him that his life was over. But damn, it seemed like the only thing that mattered anymore. Just to see how much he'd fucked his life up.

His damn prescriptions, this damn girl ... Hadn't she known that pills and alcohol were a bad mix? – He shook his head over himself. Of course she'd known, that's why she'd done it. Fuck, couldn't she have done it with somebody else's drugs? Legal drugs? Why drag him into her stupid suicide? He had only tried to help her! – Or had he? He couldn't say, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure he remembered her.

He pulled open another drawer, lifted a stack of manila-folders, and there it was, at the bottom of the drawer, one single page with his neatest handwriting on it. He'd been keeping that list since he was eighteen. He'd updated it once four years ago, feeling a little stupid about it, but at the same time it had been kind of fun; especially seeing how the nature of his wishes had changed over the course of five years.

**Things to do before I'm 30:**

- get drunk (till I puke)

- meet Michelle Pfeiffer

- get a driver's license

- get a flashy car (or a Harley)

- smoke pot

- get Mother into rehab

- have sex (get a girlfriend)

- watch all episodes of Charlie's Angels

- publish my own book

- be on the Tonight Show

- get my own place

- become tenured

- contact Dad

Lloyd heavily dropped into his office chair, the list resting in his lap.

He'd achieved some of the things on that list. He'd been tenured, for example. He'd also been drunk (several times, and yes, he'd puked, too.) He'd published his book – books, to be more precise. The last one being on the market for only a little over a month now. He even got his own place last year, a fashionable loft, but hardly ever stayed there. Mother was requiring his attention.

And he'd had sex, though not as often as he would have liked, and never with his own girlfriend. 27 years old and he had never even come close to being anyone's boyfriend. – Well, he thought with a bitter chuckle, that was surely going to change now. He was not a fool, he knew what to expect.

He was young, kind of handsome ... if you liked the ragged type. And, most importantly, he was a total push-over. The very reason why he'd written those fucking prescriptions in the first place. Not for the money, although that had been a nice side-effect. No, now, that it was over, he could admit it: He'd written those prescriptions for the illusion of power. He'd loved people coming to him, begging him, paying him. And for what? For a task as simple as putting his name on a prescription. The pen was mightier than the sword, he'd liked to muse. But in reality... In reality it had had nothing to do with might or even strength, and everything with weakness. He'd needed that illusion, that silly business of prescribing whatever to whoever. To feel powerful, to feel in control.

Just how pathetic was that?

And what had it earned him? He'd be everybody's bitch in prison. He wondered how long it would take until they broke him and he hung himself. Somehow that outcome was undisputed in his mind, and somehow it didn't really bother him.

Lloyd shook his head and took a deep breath. He looked back at his list again.

The things he had not managed to do.

He'd never got around to get his driver's license or smoke pot. He was too afraid of the effects of pot – that he'd get addicted. And somehow there had always been more important things to do than get his driver's license. New York was full of cabs, so was Atlantic City. And both cities were conveniently connected by trains and plains and buses. You got around just fine without a car of your own.

But he'd never worked up the nerve to contact his Dad. It couldn't be so hard, finding Lars Lowry. It was not a name you'd find too often. Still, fathers only messed up boys, so maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd left them. Except for Mother. She missed him. That's why she drank. That's why she had such a hard time looking at him, because he was his father's spitting image. Or so she told him. Lloyd wouldn't know, she'd burned all of his father's pictures, when he'd left.

Damn. Maybe now that he was out of her life, she would finally get the therapy she needed. He himself had failed to help her, because he was family, too close to her problem ... actually part of her problem. How could he hope to help her, when he was causing her pain?

Lloyd blinked away some random tears. He'd never wanted to cause her trouble, he loved her. He'd always only wanted the best for her. She never let him give it.

He wiped his face, crumpled up the list and tossed it in the bin. Only thing mattered now.

Things to do before I'm 30: Don't get caught.


	11. Addendum 10: Such a Good Boy

_Right, this is a "conspiracy" of two episodes. Lloyd's attitude all through episode 4 and his story about the Queen of Mitts (as I like to call Momma Lowry to myself) turned into this addendum. :)_

* * *

Addendum #10

Series 1, episode 4+5: Such a Good Boy

* * *

"Llooooyyyyd?"

Lloyd suppressed a sigh. He hated it when she called him in that way. His name dragged out, her voice grating and theatrically suffering. It was a sure sign that she'd had too much to drink and that he'd have to do something he didn't like, something he was pretty sure other fourteen year old boys were not asked to do by their mothers.

But nothing in his home was like it was in other homes. He himself saw to that. He was just finishing his PhD, and already fancied getting an md behind his name. He just wished he could work as a therapist or something so to earn his own money, but at fourteen there was no chance of that happening. Mother would have to support him for another couple of years.

"Lloooooyyyyyd!"

Oh damn, he really had to work on not getting lost in his thoughts so quickly and so often. "Coming!"

She was in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed and struggling with her sweater. "Be a good boy and help me with this," she said whiningly.

Lloyd walked over, climbed onto the bed behind her and gently pulled the sweater over her head. "There you go, Mother."

"Thank you, Lloyd." She turned around and cupped his face with one hand. "You're such a good boy."

Lloyd nodded and climbed off the bed to go back to his dissertation. He hadn't gotten far, when she called him again.

"Yes, Mother?"

"I hate to ask, but I can't get my bra off." She looked at him over her shoulder with big, mortified eyes.

"Can't you just sleep in it?" Lloyd suggested hopefully.

"I'd rather not. It's so confining. Just undo the hooks in the back, I can do the rest. Please, Lloyd?"

Lloyd swallowed his next remark. There was no discussing with her when she was in this state. So he just climbed onto the bed again, and with thumbs and forefingers only undid his mother's bra.

Like before she turned around to pat his cheek. Lloyd did his best not to look down. He didn't want to see his mother's gear.

"You're such a good boy," she said.

It's funny, how she never slurred, no matter how drunk she was. She just started to repeat herself. Over and over. At least today she was stuck on something nice.

"Really, such a good boy. Just you make sure you stay on the straight and narrow."

"Yes, Mother."

"You stay away from the sex, won't you?" There were tears in her eyes now. Damn, it was _that_ record again.

"I will."

"Promise me." She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close to her face.

"I promise. Now, please, let me go, Mother." She didn't. "Mother... Mom... Mom."

She finally let go.

"Go to sleep, Mother. Everything will be fine tomorrow morning."

She smiled gratefully up at him. "You're such a good boy, Lloyd."

Lloyd nodded, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her upper body, before he gently pushed her to lie down. "Night, Mother. Sleep tight."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," she responded, her smile intensifying.

He smiled back at her, pulled the blanket higher up, then silently walked out of her room, leaving the lights on. She didn't like sleeping in the dark.

* * *

_I'm still trying to make up my mind whether Lloyd's been a victim of all open and direct abuse as a child (and by whom) or if it's been "just" diffuse, indirect abuse as depicted in the above piece._

_I just can't decide. Any pointers, wishes, requests concerning that? I'm totally open to suggestions. ;)_


	12. Addendum 11: Incorporeal Music

Addendum #11

Series 1, episode 6: Incorporeal Music

* * *

Shea called Julianne his little girlfriend, and some chord inside Lloyd started swinging. In A-minor, or C-major ... or D-minor ... He liked D-minor.

But already the next moment he nervously doused the vibration inside, dampened it with a big ball of cotton-words. Big words, convoluted; because it couldn't be, wasn't allowed to be.

If Julianne was his girlfriend, then that would implicate that he was her boyfriend, and he wasn't, because he wasn't boyfriend-material. His mother had told him so. Actually, no. No, she had _made_ him so. She had scrubbed every boyfriend-quality he'd ever had out of him. Plus, what would Julianne do with a guy like him? A guy she'd get to see only every once in a while, and never alone. How could they be together? Impossible.

He felt the distinct need to explain himself to her, apologize even, for the sheer idea of anyone suggesting there could be anything between them. Because there wasn't. There couldn't be.

Much as he wished.

He called it ridiculous – which should tell her pretty much everything about how he really felt for her, but she just shook her head, laughed it off. As much as she was capable of laughing in other people's company, anyway.

It hurt more than it should.

Her offer to let him use her phone to call his mother was sweet, though. Almost made up for the sting.

But he refused. Somehow Lloyd knew that he was shy by nature, but his mother had multiplied that a hundredfold, until he was practically incapable of talking with women he had romantic feelings for. Like Julianne. So screw her – Mother, not Julianne, obviously. If Beaumont tried to blow up his mother, at the moment, Lloyd couldn't have cared less. She'd fucked him up in so many ways, and she'd fucked him up good.

But maybe, since the subject had come up earlier... He asked her to track down his dad for him. He wasn't sure why, but her readiness to comply, and that smile...

Lloyd felt the chord go off again inside himself. It definitely was a D-minor. It tingled all through him, and he could look at her all day long, smiling or not, she was... she was...

He forced himself to look away, but stayed near her desk, touching it just lightly with his fingertips, since he couldn't touch her.

There were base-drums now too, pounding inside him. Beating out his pulse that was way too quick, and resounding nauseatingly in the pit of his stomach, pulling his heart down.

He swallowed. He forced himself to step away from her desk, break the contact.

He'd liked her from the moment he'd met her, and every time he'd seen her since then he liked her a bit more.

To say that he had a bad track-record when it came to being in love would be an understatement. For once, he'd only been in love twice before. And both times it had come to nothing, because he couldn't get himself to open his mouth and say something.

They do say that the third time's the charm, but Lloyd wasn't a believer in sayings. All he wanted was to fall the fuck out of love.

'cause it sucked.


	13. Addendum 12: Confirmation Bias

_Thanks for the alerts, people! They're much appreciated._

* * *

Addendum #12

Series 1, episode 6: Confirmation Bias

* * *

Julianne wasn't sure what to do with her embarrassment, when Shea called her Lloyd's „little girlfriend". The idea was ridiculous, and to her great relief, Lloyd himself came over right afterwards and called it exactly that.

The situation was still awkward, though, and she tried her best to diffuse it by offering him to call his mother. She knew he had a strong attachment to her, so it seemed like the perfect peace-offering. To her astonishment he refused, saying something about Tai-Chi-Lessons. Like Tai-Chi could be any help against bombs. But she understood, when almost without missing a beat he asked about his father, rather clumsily too. He could have gone into a full blown excurse about something until he reached, rather inconspicuously, at the subject of his father, and how it would be nice if she could track him down for him. But he didn't, and it was, she realized, a spark of trust, of friendship. He knew that she knew. He had to know, because he was way too smart not to. But he took the shortcut anyway. He trusted her with this delicate matter.

Julianne was more than happy to comply. It was a win-win situation. She could get out of this still awkward situation and Lloyd would find out about his long lost father.

She found Lars Lowry soon enough, but not in Holland. By her research, he had never left the US, not even for a holiday. It didn't even surprise her. Lloyd's mother must have spun that story to lessen the pain of being abandoned. Kind of nice, understandable even. But in the long run, Julianne felt that she had done more damage with this story than good. Children deserved to know the truth.

Lloyd deserved to know the truth.

Julian put the number down on a blue sticky-note.

"614, that doesn't sound like Holland." He does seem surprised. Or maybe that was the wrong word, disappointed fit the bill better. And he explained to her about confirmation-bias, probably in the hopes to make himself look less like a fool, which he wasn't in her eyes. Lloyd was very sensitive, much more than anyone of the team gave him credit for, or even considered possible. But that's why he was so rash and rude. It was his eggshell.

Julianne knew a thing or two about eggshells, she had created her own. Her scarfs, her boots, her saggy clothes, her tea, the monitor of her laptop, always up and always creating this little barrier between herself and the rest of the office.

Lloyd's eggshell was smarter, because he could take it with him wherever he went, and it wasn't so blatantly obvious. They called him names, but they didn't fear he would break in two at any given moment as they did with her.

But when the case was over, and she found him in the interview-room, visibly upset, blue sticky-note to his left and cell-phone to his right, she wondered if sometimes it wasn't just better to keep lying. She knew the number was in service and worked just fine, but she didn't correct him, when he told her that it didn't. She even went so far and told him of a Dutch population in Columbus, bogus as it was.

But he accepted it, went right back to confirmation-biasing. Not happily but readily. She was sure that it wouldn't take long before he could talk about his father in Holland without tears stinging his eyes and without his voice going all soft and croaky.


	14. Addendum 13: Civilian Clothes

_This idea sounded so much more romantic in my head ... I'm sorry for the way this worked out. Next one will be better again, I promise. ;)_

* * *

Addendum #13

Series 1, episode 7: Civilian Clothes

* * *

He should have known. He really, really should have known. Ray and Charlie were bad-ass guys, they didn't go shopping for clothes. So of course it was Julianne.

Lloyd wondered, as he slowly slipped into the t-shirt, why she had picked this for him. Why this colour? Why this fabric? Was it cheap, probably? – Well, the shirt maybe was, but the jacket surely wasn't. It was well crafted, the material was strong and comfortable.

She must have put some thought into this, after all his clothes were totally different from Shea's. Clearly, Julianne had tried to capture their personal preferences. Based on their social background, probably, or old pictures. Now, he had been a wearer of suits for most of his life, so old pictures was probably not it. Or maybe she thought that if he were a suit as opposed to Charlie and Ray in their normal, casual wear, people would wrongly assume that hew as calling the shots. People did that, judging by the cover.

And he had to admit that casual clothes gave him a sense of freedom a suit never could. A suit made you feel in control, because people judged you to be better, smarter, more sophisticated than them. It was an expectation not always easy to live up to.

Whereas when you wore jeans and sweater, people pegged you for just any normal guy. And then you could blow them away by doing something really extraordinary.

Lloyd felt that he was doing that, daily, but nobody on the team seemed blown away by it. Then again, they still kept him around, and that was something. He wasn't used to being kept around, not when people had a chance. He'd only got his tenure because of his name, not because anybody liked him.

So maybe... just maybe...

He shook off the thought. Not worth going there. In the end, everybody always walked all over him. Better just to enjoy in silence the intimacy that lay in wearing the clothes, Julianne had picked. Surely she was the one who took them to the cleaner's too. She touched those clothes, his clothes.

It was like a hug, a feather-light embrace, to walk around in these clothes.


	15. Addendum 14: Kill

_Because Lloyd seemed waaaaay too interested when he heard what Mars had done... :)_

* * *

Addendum #14

Series 1, Episode 7: Kill

* * *

He chased her around the house, one of her chopping knives in his hand and yelling at her, screaming at her all the things that she had fucked up.

She pleaded and cried and tears streamed down her face. But she didn't stop running. She never stopped running away from him.

It didn't matter though, because he knew the house just as well as she did, and he knew all the tiny little places she could hide in. And he found them all. Tore them apart, and sent her running again. Running to the next hide-out. Where he would find her and scare her and make her run.

Until finally, _finally_, they reached the last spot, up in the attic between all the old, dusty boxes with remnants of a never-lived childhood, where she pressed her back against the wall, held out her hands towards him in defence, her eyes were round, filled with horror and absent understanding. "Why... Oh, please..."

And he dropped the knife, walked over to her, hugged her. "You know why," he whispered at her ear. "You know exactly why, Mother."

And then he laid his hands around her neck. And pressed. And pressed harder.

Her eyes bulged, mouth opened wide in a desperate while futile attempt to gasp some air.

He watched it. It didn't please him to see her like that; suffocation was an ugly way to go. But it satisfied him. Deep down.

Until she slapped him. Hard. On the arms, in the face, on the head, on his sides, on his back. Just anywhere she could reach.

He let go. He recoiled, took a few steps back. Then he fell to the ground and wept.

# # #

Lloyd woke up with a feeling of deep humiliation. Not even in his dreams. Not even in his dreams he could kill her. And that when he knew, when he just simply _knew_, that killing her, at least in a dream, would do him so much good.


	16. Addendum 15: Bad Chemistry

Addendum #15

Series 1, episode 7: Bad Chemistry

* * *

"Lloyd, you're crazy," Mandy said, huffing and then blowing on her freezing hands. "At least let me turn on the motor, so we have some heating in here."

Lloyd shook his head and pulled the key from the ignition.

"Why are you doing this, anyway?" she asked on. "You already know, she's going with Drew. He's the freaking quarterback PLUS an A-student."

"As and Bs," he corrected automatically, his eyes fixed to the lime-green house across the street.

"Never mind. He's smart, he's sporty, he's freakishly good looking. How do you think you can ever compete with that? – No offence."

"None taken."

Mandy huffed again. "You know, the weird thing about you is, you actually _aren't_ offended. But you should be. I pretty much called you an ugly, stupid slouch just now."

"I'm not a slouch, I'm not ugly." He paused. "And I'm soooo much smarter than him."

"Duh. You're smarter than everyone. But guess what? That won't get you into Chiara's panties. Chiara's a firm believer in the 'good dumb fuck': The dumber they are, the better they fuck."

He shot her a quick, angry glance. "I don't like it when you talk like that," he told her, his eyes already back to the house, where you could see through the drapes – if you really strained your eyes – Chiara and Drew sitting on a couch, together.

"Why not? 's that too grown up for you?"

"No, but crude terms don't change facts, they just distort them into something that they aren't." He had put on his lecturing voice, the same voice he used when trying to explain to her the inner workings and beauty of conic sections or integral calculus.

He could be quite an arrogant prick for a fifteen-year-old. But then, he was a wunderkind, and Mandy guessed that they got to be that way. If a world-class IQ didn't give you the rights to some arrogance, probably nothing did. And since all he asked as payment for his tutoring was small favours – like driving him over to Chiara's place to spy on her – she was quite fine with it. She really could use the money she was supposed to be paying him for her own expanses. The gas for her car didn't come exactly cheap. Nor did her clothes and sexy underwear.

"Now, really." Mandy slapped his upper arm with the back of her hand. "Why are you doing this to yourself? What do you think to gain from this?"

"I'm getting all the facts," he replied.

"You what?" She almost slapped him again. "You already know that Chiara and Drew are an item. You know they kiss. – You've seen them kissing, numerous times. It's not that hard to guess that they're getting hands-on with each other."

"You can't ever assume," he told her, still preachy, but with a gloomy undertone. "If you have the opportunity to confirm and gather facts about a situation, they should take precedence over assumptions and guesses, which can be totally misleading and make you miss out on chances..."

Mandy thought she saw Chiara and Drew leaning closer together, kissing, hugging... doing other stuff. She took the car-key from his limp fingers, shoved them into the ignition and quickly turned it around, firing up the motor and stepping on the gas.

He turned around in his seat, trying not to lose sight, but of course, she was around the next corner in a matter of seconds. He turned to her. "Why'd you do that?" he accused. "Our deal was an hour for an hour."

Mandy kept going, at a moderate speed now, but steadily away from Chiara's home. "Believe it or not, Lloyd, I'm doing this because I like you. Because I can't watch you torture yourself for some stupid attitude. Prove over assumption may be true in science. But this isn't science, dumbo. You're fancying a girl, which is totally sweet and fine. But she's got a boyfriend. And getting prove for what you already know is a fact, will only hurt you. How can you be so stupid when you're so intelligent?"

Lloyd looked down at his hands that he'd folded in his lap. He sighed. "You really think I should just ... forget about it."

Mandy sighed too and pulled up to the curb. She turned around in her seat to face him. "No, not _it_," she said with emphasis. "Forget _her_. Honestly, I don't know why you've got your heart set on her in the first place. She's got nothing to offer but a great head of hair. Not even her boobs are all that great."

Lloyd shrugged uncomfortably and remained silent.

"Right. So what d'you say? I drive you home, we meet again Friday, and I owe you one. Maybe go to the movies? My treat?"

He shrugged again and at long last nodded his head. "Fine, yeah. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should just..." He cleared his throat. "What movie were you thinking of?"

Mandy rattled off what she knew was playing at the moment. She acted as if she believed him. But she knew that he was just talk. He probably wasn't going to make her drive over again, but he'd still think of Chiara, probably walk over to her place on his own. But there was nothing she could do except help him save face. So she didn't voice any of that, at least not now. She just nodded, put the car back in gear and drove him home.


	17. Addendum 16: Flowers

_Quick note: My baby (translate: laptop) is in the shop for healing (translate: repair). I only have one more story uploaded to the site (after this), so updates will be ... slow. Because I've written a few more, but they're on my baby's harddrive, so no getting to them until I get it back from the computer-docs._

* * *

Addendum #16

Series 1, episode 7: Flowers

* * *

"Just buy her some flowers."

That's what Ray had told him, and easy for _him_ to say. _He_ had access to money and flower-shops.

Fine, truth be told, Lloyd had money, too, enough to buy a bunch of flowers, anyway. And he surely could get around to buying it somehow when they were on a case.

But doing it with Erica and Shea watching? He would never hear the end of it. Even if he somehow managed to buy flowers when they weren't around, they would see them on Julianne's desk, and they would draw the correct conclusions. And again, he wouldn't hear the end of it. He could deny his involvement, sure. But a) they would never believe him and b) he didn't want Julianne to think that he had nothing to do with it. Even if he wrote her a note and asked her to keep quiet about it... What woman wanted an admirer who couldn't own up to his admiration?

The next problem was: what flowers? What kind of flowers were the right kind? Red roses were way to obvious. They were surely not the right kind to give first. He'd have to research flowers and their meanings, because next to red roses and white lilies he had no idea. Maybe a bunch of mixed flowers was the way to go. Or flowers in her favourite colour. – What was her favourite colour? Could he just go and ask her? Wasn't that being obvious again?

And what if she was allergic? There's something to think about. That would kill every last bit of romance if his gift made her sneeze and tear up and puff up red.

Damn. Who would have thought that one single piece of advice, such simple advice, could harbour so many problems?

He could send her a virtual bunch, she'd appreciate that too. She was living half her life in the virtual world anyway. But he'd have to apply for an account at Maybelle. And they would search his history, like they read his letters. And Lloyd didn't want just anybody to know.

Back in Maybelle, Lloyd walked over to the art therapy section. Art therapy was crap, but they had nice things over there. Paper and coloured pencils. He sat down, took a bunch of paper and drew her a violet. And then another and another. In the end he had a stack of violets, all dedicated to Julianne.

He took the stack, took it back to his cell and chucked the worse ones in the bin and tucked the better ones to the wall beside his bunk.

He would never work up enough nerve to give them to her.


	18. Addendum 17: Bitch

_I admit it. This is simply to let off steam. Because I hate Erica in this one. So all thoughts in this piece are pretty much my own._

Addendum #17

Series 1, Episode 8: Bitch

* * *

It was not fucking fair.

He was the one who'd found the coupon. He was the one who'd suggested the steak-dinner-competition; at least he had been involved in it somehow. Erica had simply jumped the wagon.

And he'd really been totally invested in this case. Well, he always was, really, but this time he'd given it that one little extra spark of will and enthusiasm. – And all things considered, being true to this task force and what it did, was much more of an achievement for him than for the other two.

Erica was pretty much a cop as she was. She'd done this sort of thing all her life. She'd only stepped off the straight and narrow once, but all she wanted was to get back on that track. So she just followed her true nature by capturing bad guys.

Lloyd was ... Geez, whatever he'd done to land 25 years, he hardly was a hard-boiled criminal. Must have been something accidental, like sticking the foot out for the wrong guy, who tripped and fell so unluckily he broke his neck, or something the like. Plus he loved using his brain, not that Shea blamed him. If he had that sort of brain, hell yeah, he'd put it to use too. So bottom line, Lloyd enjoyed himself greatly on work-detail.

But for Shea, being with the marshals, catching his fellow cons, was overcoming his basic instincts, every time. In his world, there was one common enemy: the cops. Therefore, just being there and doing the job should have earned him that steak dinner.

But who the effing hell got it? Erica. The bitch. The person with the most boobs - Lloyd surely had a point there. No way was her getting in a car worth a steak, especially since it didn't amount to anything. The perps still got away, and she sat there like... well, the proverbial sitting duck. Had let them take the keys and all. Whereas he had caught his guy. Never mind it turned out to be the wrong one. At the time they thought he was the right one. In the end, both, he and the bitch, had not brought in the runner. So - why her, why not him? Eff it. Next time he would just sit around in the car a bit and collect his juicy, medium rare, fully garnished steak prize for doing absolutely nothing.

Bitch.

She could at least have had the decency to not let them know she wouldn't eat it. But to just take the coupon and rip it up, right in their faces... All just to fuck with them. That was mean-spirited, nothing else.

If nothing else, she could have given it to Charlie, because the guy _had_ taken a round in the leg, which kind of was steak-worthy.

At the very least she could have ordered herself a whopping big plate of side-dishes. Even steakhouse potatoes must beat prison potatoes. But no. That wasn't good enough for her, because she didn't want to eat well, skinny bitch that she was. No. She wanted to stomp on them, prove some kind of idiotic superiority, just because she was a _vegetarian_, ooh, and wasn't she nice for not eating bambi!

But his chance came when they walked over to the van that would take them back to Maybelle. He managed to shove her at just the right moment, so she tripped over the curb and fell to the ground. She scraped her hands, probably her knees too. And she looked livid. Well, boohoo.

"You know," he said nonchalantly, "it's supposed to help the healing when you lick your wounds... Oh, how stupid of me, I forgot. You don't lick flesh. Too bad. Guess you'll have to get blood-poisoning then and die." He walked by her, stepping on her jacket with gusto. He hoped he managed to put a rip in it.

Lloyd knelt down beside her, as if to help her up. "I guess you had that coming," he said flatly, then just stood up again.


	19. Addendum 18: you must be Genevieve

Addendum #18

Series 1, Episode 10: You must be Genvieve

Virgil looked into guard Krauss's eyes, trying to determine whether the man was serious about his offer or if this was a trap. But no, the pain that burned in those eyes was real. The determination to end this, once and for all, was genuine.

And help with the escape plus a nice wad of money, that was an offer that was hard to pass up. "Just to put my own sense of justice at ease: What have those gentlemen done to earn your... shall we say wrath?"

Krauss flinched, and for a moment Virgil was sure that he wouldn't get an answer, but then Krauss cleared his throat painfully. "They raped my daughter."

Virgil nodded. A good motive. Personally, he didn't care much for his clients' motives. He was offering a service and his clients were willing to pay his price. But, truth be told, some jobs were easier than others, and by the looks of it, this was going to be his easiest job yet.

He'd killed uncomfortable spouses, siblings and in-laws. He'd killed business-partners and competitors. And now he was going to kill criminals. Fine by him.

"I'll have to think on your offer," he finally said. "This is, after all, nothing you decide on a whim. Right?"

Krauss nodded. "Of course, sure. Get back to me when you decide."

This time Virgil nodded. And that was the end of the conversation. They both moved back to do what they normally did. Krauss went back to patrolling the yard, Virgil went back to leaning back against the wall heated up by the autumn sun, enjoying the warmth seeping into his back.

He wouldn't get back to Krauss. Even if he thought that the pain and determination were real, it could still be a trap. So it was a lot safer to wait until Krauss came back to him, asking him again. In the end walking into a trap was a risk he would have to take. Still, no reason to rush things. Nothing good ever came from rushing things.

So he waited.

It took Krauss a little over a month to talk to him again. Virgil still didn't outright accept. Instead he asked for details. That lead Krauss to believe that he accepted his offer, but if it was a trap, Virgil could weasel out of it, claiming it's been a mind-experiment or something. His lawyer would have a field-day, stressing the fact that his client had never agreed to doing anything illegal.

It took two more months until it finally took place.

The escape was a piece of cake, not a guard in sight anywhere. The gun and ammo were exactly where Krauss had said he'd hide them, along with a bit of cash. Not much, the full forty k were due only when he'd taken care of all four targets, but it would help him get the essentials for the time being, like a car and food.

His first target was easy enough to find. Hardly looked like the kind of guy who'd cause a young girl so much trouble. But it was not his job to wonder whether his targets deserved to die or not. He was paid to kill them, so he killed them. But before he pulled the trigger, he carried out his client's instructions. "This is for Genevieve," he said. Then he pulled the trigger three times – per his instructions: "Tell them it's for Genevieve and put three bullets in their hearts." Rather pathetic really, but it wasn't Virgil's place to question that. He was selling a service, and whatever his clients wanted, they got it. Unless it was something gross like torture or maiming. He saw no sense in drawing things out. He offered sending people from the living to the dead, and that's what he delivered.

Things got rough when Krauss's information went bad. That black dude was not on his list. Too bad. He couldn't allow for witnesses. Normally he wouldn't do this. Normally, he would have had time to check this place out and realize that his target wasn't living here anymore. But he was working under not normal circumstances. And in the great scheme of things, one more kill hardly mattered anymore.

He considered briefly to just screw it and leave the country. But if nothing else he was a man of honour. He kept his deals. That's why he kept going, finding target number two and three and four.

That's when they caught up with him. He had almost expected it, because, as stated earlier, he was not working under normal – meaning optimal – conditions. It was merely a question of time, and quite frankly he was surprised he had come this far. It still could have worked out if he hadn't hurt his leg in the jump. He had no idea how, but there were always possibilities.

They took him to a dingy place in Brooklyn, and there he saw her.

Genevieve.

She was pretty. She looked sad and confused and forlorn, but not broken. Not even fragile. Her father had pegged her all wrong, he decided. She might be momentarily down, but she would work her way back up. She may have fallen, but she didn't keep lying on the ground. She pushed to her hands and knees, she would keep pushing until she stood tall on both her feet again.

Nonetheless, it felt good to have punished the ones that had thrown her to the ground in the first place, the bastards who had raped her. "You must be Genevieve," he said, and a smile spread on his face.


	20. Addendum 19: Harvard

addendum #19

* * *

Series 1, Episode 10: Harvard

Lloyd walked across the campus, his mother a step ahead, carrying two of his bags, Lloyd himself carrying the other three.

It was going to be so much better in college. The students were older here, more mature. They weren't going to lock him up in his locker. They weren't going to take his clothes during gym-class and his gym-clothes when he was showering. They weren't going to force him to do their homework.

Here he could flourish. Here he could finally concentrate on learning, instead of wondering what prank would hit him next.

"Here we are, Adams House." His mother put the bags down with a huff. "Well, looks nice enough."

Lloyd had to disagree. It wasn't looking nice at all, it looked fantastic!

He was going to share his lodgings with four other students, and he was both excited about that and frightened by it. He had never lived with anyone except Mother. But he was a college student now, he had some growing up to do. He could live with other people.

Mother picked up his bags again. "Right, let's find your place."

Half an hour later they stood in an apartment. There was a common living room, a kitchen and a bathroom, and there were five bedrooms. Three of which were already taken. Of the two remaining rooms Lloyd wanted the smaller one, because it made up in quiet for what it lacked in size.

But Mother wasn't having any of it. "No way, Lloyd. That other room must be bigger by at least ten square feet. You'll need that space."

"But Mother, it's out towards the street."

"Ph, street." His mother waved it off. "Those streets are as quiet as they come. You won't have any problems from them."

Lloyd threw a pointed look outside to the bustling road.

"It's move-in day. Of course the streets are busy today. But that will soon calm down. You'll see, you won't have any trouble. Now, do you need any help putting away your stuff?"

Lloyd shook his head. He wouldn't put away anything, because when Mother was gone, he would move his belongings to the other room.

"Hey, I'm Colin, who're..." The voice died down. In the doorway stood a black teenager, looking confused. "Oh, hi. I'm Colin Havers, Freshman, I just wanted to introduce myself to my new roommate, but I see he's not here yet." He looked between Lloyd and his mother.

"Actually," Mother took Lloyd by the shoulders and pushed him forward, "he is. This is Lloyd, my pride and joy."

Lloyd swallowed his nervousness, then nodded his head in greeting. "Hi."

Colin stared at him. "You..."

"I'm starting psychology here."

"And you are..." Colin stopped himself with a look at his mother. "Sorry, but how old are you?"

"Twelve."

Colin's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."

Lloyd uncomfortably shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head to the side.

"Well, nice to meet you, Colin. I trust you'll be nice to my boy," Mother said, and patted Lloyd on the shoulders. "Now, come on, let's unpack your things and make you at home."

Lloyd wished she would just leave. Things would be so much easier if he could sort out things for himself. But Colin proved to be unexpectedly sympathetic. He gave Lloyd a small smile, then leaned in close, as Mother bustled through the room, checking out the furniture. "My mother's a helicopter Mom too."

Lloyd smiled back. He felt welcome, he felt understood. Harvard was going to be great.


	21. Addendum 20: Five Down

Addendum #20

* * *

Series 1, Episode 11: Five Down

She ran her fingers over her tattoo.

She wondered how Bennet could have overpowered her.

It couldn't have been the rocks, not really. She knew these woods, knew this kind of terrain. She'd hunted in this terrain.

Maybe it was cosmic justice, a sign to stop messing her own life up.

Four down, two to go. That's what she'd told him – Konrad Meyers. Right before she'd put a bullet in his head.

He was still out there, at the foot of the mountain, covered by about four feet of forest soil. One of the five she'd made disappear.

Her thoughts wandered to Barry Kingleader. The last one. The sixth one. The one who had no stick-figure portrait on her left wrist alongside the others. Not yet, maybe never. Because, now that she was actually _in_ prison, she wondered if it really was worth it. Her father had loved her, and she had loved him. And she knew that he wouldn't want her in jail. When she'd "disappeared" the other five, she hadn't cared about that, though. Taking those thugs to justice – and be it her own – had mattered to her more than his wishes. More than her daughter, more than anything.

But not anymore. She was leading a lost life. Kingleader was safe. She would not drop him.


End file.
